


The Beginning of a Whole New Life

by Elton_Hercules_John



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Babies, Background Mystrade, Background Relationships, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Kinda, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Sickfic, Worried Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elton_Hercules_John/pseuds/Elton_Hercules_John
Summary: John's had a horrible day at work. It's only half past ten and his first patient of the day has been sick on his shoes already. However, while on his break between patients, Sherlock texts him telling him to get home ASAP.John's glad he went home, because what was waiting for him changed his entire life.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	The Beginning of a Whole New Life

Get home. Now. SH

I'm not coming home just because we've run out of milk. JW

Plenty of milk. And bread. And eggs. Come home. SH

Nope. Working, Sherlock. Earning the money that pays OUR rent. JW

Please, John. SH

I can't. Sorry. JW 

Medical emergency. SH

Go to Bart's. If it's something I can fix, come into the clinic. JW

Can't move. SH 

What? JW 

I can't move. I can't move my legs. I need help. SH

What caused it? JW

Please just come home. It's serious. Don't bring an ambulance, as much as you want to. SH

Okay, so it's serious enough for a house call but not serious enough for an ambulance trip? Gotcha. JW 

Just hurry up. Please. SH

*****

Sherlock saying 'please' was enough to make John rush home. He knew he had been snippy with his texts, but after having a young child vomit onto your shoes at ten in the morning, wouldn't everyone be a little peeved? 

As he climbed the stairs, the flat was eerily quiet. John knew of the phrase 'silence is golden', but when it came to Sherlock, silence was suspicious. Very suspicious. He opened the flat door, looking around. Everything seemed to be in place, apart from the blood splatters on the kitchen floor. They definitely weren't there this morning. They left a sick, almost Hansel and Gretel-like trail to Sherlock's closed bedroom door. 

They weren't big splatters, by any account. Just little spots, maybe an inch across at most, slightly brown. Old blood, but freshly bled. That meant that the blood had been stored somewhere in the body for a while. Frequent little splatters, all the way up to Sherlock's room. John followed the trail to the bedroom door, then slowly pressed it open.

Well. 

What John didn't expect to see was Sherlock, completely naked, his bottom half covered by a bloody and wet sheet, with a bare baby dozing on his chest. Sherlock's curls were matted with sweat, his face was pale, and his hands were visibly shaking. 

"Where did you get a baby, Sherlock." John muttered, approaching the bed. The baby definitely wasn't to term. They were a tiny preemie, at that. "It needs to go back to the hospital, wherever you stole it from, right now." 

"S'mine…" Sherlock's voice was slurred from utter exhaustion. "I… Had back pains… Last night… W-W-Woke up… Th'morn… Bleeding… Ignored it…" 

"You ignored the fact that you were bleeding?!" John uttered in shock as he pulled Sherlock's sheet up over the baby, then placed his own cardigan over them as well. He pulled out his phone, sending a text to Mycroft behind his back to scramble some ambulances as he peered down at the tiny baby. 

"Mm… Thought it would- would go away on its own… Apparently not…" Sherlock shifted a little on the bed, his face screwing up in pain. "Barely made it to bed… Had her… At…" Sherlock looked around. He was clearly a bit hazy from shock and blood loss, and shock caused by blood loss. "... Ten twenty three AM…" 

John quickly checked his watch. Ten forty five. Right. Shit. Fuck. Jesus. "Okay. Right. Need to keep you warm, need to keep baby warm. Did you deliver the placenta?" 

"Corner… In the plastic bag… Leave it… Need it for experiments…" Sherlock lifted a shaky hand, pointing to the Tesco bag beside his wardrobe. John didn't even question it. It wasn't the most important thing right now. "She's cold…" 

"Cause you've not been covering her, you git. It's good you've got her lying on your chest, though. It'll help. Stay there a minute." John jogged off, trying to find all the blankets in the flat. He placed them all at the foot of the bed, then reached out to take the baby and swaddle her. 

"Nnno!" Sherlock wrapped his arms around the baby protectively. "Sh'mine. Not yours." 

"I understand you're going to be protective, Sherlock, but newborns get very cold very quickly. Especially premature ones. I need to swaddle her and get her temp back up." Carefully, John extracted the baby from Sherlock's arms, laying her on a fleece blanket. She was absolutely tiny, and weighed hardly anything in John's hands. Once swaddled, he handed her back to Sherlock. "Keep her against your chest, that's a good lad. Did you know…?" 

"That I was pregnant…? No… There was no visible weight gain…" Sherlock couldn't stop staring at her tiny little face. He looked almost in awe. "The illness… I thought I had been poisoned… Mood swings, being cold turkey… Is she going to die?" 

"Is she- Jesus, Sherlock, no. No. You just keep her nice and warm. Has she had a feed?" 

"Yes… She seemed to know what to do. That's why she's sleeping right now." Sherlock carefully reached out, stroking her cheek with his knuckle. Her face was the same size as his finger. 

"Ambulance should be here soon, but in the meantime… Mind if I have a little check down there? I'm just concerned you've torn, with the amount of blood you've lost." John hiked up the sheets by Sherlock's ankles until they were resting on his thighs, covering anything from Sherlock's view. As his legs were exposed to the cold air of the bedroom, they started shaking, tremoring badly. "I know. Quick exam, then I'll get you nice and warm again. Do you think you could spread your legs for me?" 

"I'm so tired…" 

"I know… There's a good lad." John was met with what could only be described as a crime scene. He grabbed another blanket, then slowly dabbed around Sherlock's thighs, cleaning up any blood and fluids. He knew it wasn't really sterile, but he was making do. "Right… Good news is, no tear. Bad news is, lots of blood loss. How are you feeling?" 

"Tired…" Sherlock mumbled, his eyelids drooping. He was still bleeding. 

"Stay with me, Sherlock. Good lad. Keep your head up and eyes open." Sherlock did as he was told, but it was hard. John closed Sherlock's legs for him, then covered him with more blankets. "You did a brilliant job, for being home alone. And I'm taking it that this is your first?" 

"Mmm…" Sherlock's one-word answers were starting to worry John. He moved back up to the head of the bed, touching Sherlock's cheek. Clammy. He then did the same to the baby's. Warmer than what it had been. 

"I'm proud of you, Sherlock. So proud of you. You've just got to stay awake for a few more minutes, then we'll have a blood transfusion in you and baby'll be all nice and warm. Just a few more minutes." 

Sherlock plunged into darkness before the ambulance arrived. 

*****

Ten hours later, Sherlock woke up. He could smell how sterile the room was, telling him that he was in a hospital. The specific beeping of the Mortara Surveyor S19 Patient Monitor told Sherlock that he was in St Mary's, without even having to open his eyes. He flexed his hand slowly. Saline IV drip in the back of his left hand, blood bag in his right cubital fossa. Lost a lot of blood, then. Brilliant. The room was quiet, but he could feel the presence of someone beside his bed. 

He opened his eyes. 

John. 

"John…" 

"Hey, mate. How are you feeling?" John carefully reached over, resting his hand on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock didn't move away from the contact; it was a welcoming, warm touch. One that really asked if he was okay. 

"Like I've been run over by a bus…" Sherlock muttered, had a look around the room, then sniffed. "Mycroft's been here. It smells of Extra Vieille." 

"Uhhh… Yeah. Wanted to see how his niece was doing." John gently rubbed Sherlock's arm, before moving his hand away, much to Sherlock's upset. "He left like, an hour ago, maybe? Sat with you for a while. Kicked me out of the room, actually. He just… Sat in here and held your hand and talked to you, even though you were sleeping." 

"Disgusting… Doesn't he have anything better to do?" Sherlock moved his arm to the side of the bed, finding the bed remote and slowly pressing one of the buttons until he was sat upright, even though his abdominal muscles protested. 

"Well, yeah. He went up, spoke to baby for a while. She's doing great, by the way. One pound, twelve ounces. Absolutely tiny. The doctors think she was about 28 weeks when you had her." John smiled. "All the midwives love her. Can't stop cooing over her. She's gonna be a heartbreaker." 

"She's a child, John… A baby, at that… We have no idea how her romantic life is going to pan out…" Sherlock rubbed his chest, grumbling softly in discomfort. "My chest hurts." 

"Your chest or your heart or your lungs?" 

"My chest." 

"That'll be your milk coming in. Not fun, I know." John grimaced. "It normally takes longer for it to come in, but baby came early, so…" 

"Not fun, not nice." Sherlock grumbled again, rubbing at his left pectoral with the heel of his hand. "Are they meant to be hard?" 

"Yeah, think so. Milk's gotta be stored somewhere, doesn't it? It's just your boo… Your chest filling up." John shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Want me to ask a nurse for a breast pump?" 

"Ah, no, thank you." Sherlock grimaced. "I'll just… Deal with it, I suppose." 

"It'll get more sore if you ignore it." John rubbed his face. "Anyways. Are you keeping her? I need to know for paperwork. There's lots of bloody paperwork for having a baby." 

"I… Think I will keep her." Sherlock answered slowly, as if he was still mulling it over as he said it. "Yes. I will. She'll help me get in places I wasn't allowed in before. For cases and such." 

"... You're not taking the baby on cases." 

"Why not?" 

"Because she could get hurt! You are not running about London with a baby strapped to your chest!" 

"What if she's strapped to my back?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, fully seriously. 

"No, Sherlock! No running about London with a baby strapped to your back!" 

"Fine. But I'm not quitting cases. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will look after her while we're away on them. Speaking of… Have you told her?" 

"Not yet, no." John sighed. "Wanted to wait until you woke up. Only Mycroft knows. He's out getting you baby stuff right now." 

"But if Mycroft knows, then that means-" 

At that very moment, Greg Lestrade, holding way too many balloons and looking as excited as humanely possible, burst through the room door. "Congratulations, you two! We knew you were hiding something from us!" 

"It's… Not John's baby." Sherlock frowned, staring at the balloons that were bumping against the ceiling. 'It's a girl!' 'Congratulations!' 'A new little princess!' and 'welcome baby!' were written on just some of the balloons. Other balloons were shaped like babies, prams, bottles, and booties. As Greg tied them to the end of the bed, Sherlock shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable despite his screaming lower half and his stinging chest. "It's from someone I had to…" He sighed in embarrassment. "Seduce to get information. They weren't John's type, so…" 

"You shagged without protection. A person you didn't know." Greg muttered. "You can be a bloody idiot, you know. What case was it? Does the person know you've had their kid?" 

"Doesn't matter. And I did use protection, it just… Ripped. They're dead now. It was that American, John gave it a stupid title… The Seattle Strangler. He wasn't even from Seattle… He was from Kirkland, across the river from Seattle." Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"You slept with a murderer." Greg said, deadpan. Even John looked shocked. Sherlock looked between them, a frown on his face. 

"Yes? And?" 

"Nothing, nothing. Just… I thought you didn't do stuff like that. Turns out you do. Just with murderers." Greg shrugged. "Anyways. Baby name?" 

"I don't normally do stuff like that. It was for a case. And I don't know what to name her. I thought John would decide something for me." Sherlock reached over, pressing the increase button on his morphine drip. He was in pain, but hiding it well. John noticed, however, and tipped Sherlock's bed back a little, easing the strain on his muscles. 

"Yeah, I haven't decided anything. It's normally the parents that do that, you know? That's you, Sherlock. You have to choose her name." John said as he fiddled with one of Sherlock's drips. He saw Sherlock physically relax with a low sigh.

"Mmmm… Doctor Watson, always there to save the day…" Sherlock murmured, almost sinking into the pillows. "And she's called Marie, by the way…" 

"Marie?" John asked, giving Sherlock's shoulder a rub. The man looked just exhausted, almost ready to fall asleep now that his medication was kicking in. "Ohhh. Marie Curie?" 

"Obviously. Marie Rosalind Holmes… Does that sound alright, John?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow up at him. John nodded. "Lestrade?" Greg did the same. "Good, then it's settled. Marie Rosalind-" 

"Oh, I get it! Rosalind, cause of that scientist who worked with Watson and Crick to discover DNA! Jesus, we did that in high school." Greg laughed, suddenly nostalgic. "God, that was ages ago… Can't believe I remember that." 

"She didn't work with them." Sherlock seethed. "They stole her idea. She should have gotten the Nobel Prize for physiology, but nooo, the idea-stealing bloody-" 

As he ranted, John slowly turned up the dial on Sherlock's painkillers, until his words turned to sloppy mush and his eyes drooped shut. "Don't need him stressed out at the moment… Even if it is just over some dead scientists." 

Greg nodded in agreement, giving Sherlock's shoulder a little pat. "Yeah… He'll be alright, though, won't he? Myc won't stop worrying. Came to me in tears, he did." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. He panics like a madman when there's no one around, honest. Just don't tell him I said that." Greg grinned. "Anyways… I still need to see this baby of his. Where is she?" 

"NICU, just along the hall from here. Just let me…" John adjusted Sherlock's painkillers back down, then stared at his vitals for a moment. He then looked over Sherlock, his eyes baggy and with dark circles, face still somewhat pale, and stomach unbelievably flat, before leading Greg out the room and along the hallway to meet baby Marie Rosalind Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, then you can message me @elton-hercules-john on tumblr. Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and shares all fuel me to write more! ❤️


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